The Bicyclers and Three Other Farces

Mrs. Bradley.  Not by your landlord, but you know what amateur dramatics are.

Bradley.  I doubt it.  He wouldn’t have let us have ’em here if he had known.

Perkins.  Amateur—amateur dramatics?

Mrs. Perkins.  Certainly, Thaddeus.  You know we offered our parlor for the performance.  The audience are to sit out in the hall.

Perkins.  Oh—ah!  Why, of course!  Certainly!  It had slipped my mind; and—ah—what else?

Bradley.  Why, we’re here to-night to arrange the scene.  Don’t tell us you didn’t know it.  Bob Yardsley’s coming, and Barlow.  Yardsley’s a great man for amateur dramatics; he bosses things so pleasantly that you don’t know you’re being ordered about like a slave.  I believe he could persuade a man to hammer nails into his piano-case if he wanted it done, he’s so insinuatingly lovely about it all.

Perkins (absently).  I’ll get a hammer.  [Exit.

Mrs. Perkins (aside).  I must explain to Thaddeus.  He’ll never forgive me.  (Aloud.)  Thaddeus is so forgetful that I don’t believe he can find that hammer, so if you’ll excuse me I’ll go help him.  [Exit.

Bradley.  Wonder what’s up?  They don’t quarrel, do they?

Mrs. Bradley.  I don’t believe any one could quarrel with Bessie Perkins—not even a man.

Bradley.  Well, they’re queer.  Acted as if they weren’t glad to see us.

Mrs. Bradley.  Oh, that’s all your imagination.  (Looks about the room.)  That table will have to be taken out, and all these chairs and cabinets; and the rug will never do.

Bradley.  Why not?  I think the rug will look first-rate.

Mrs. Bradley.  A rug like that in a conservatory?  [A ring at the front-door bell is heard.

Bradley.  Ah! maybe that’s Yardsley.  I hope so.  If Perkins and his wife are out of sorts we want to hurry up and get through.

Mrs. Bradley.  Oh, we’ll be through by twelve o’clock.

Enter Yardsley and Barlow.

Yardsley.  Ah! here we are at last.  The wreckers have arrove.  Where’s Perkins?

Barlow.  Taken to the woods, I fancy.  I say, Bob, don’t you think before we begin we’d better give Perkins ether?  He’ll suffer dreadful agony.

Enter Mrs. Perkins, wiping her eyes.

Mrs. Perkins.  How do you do, Mr. Barlow? and you, Mr. Yardsley?  So glad to see you.  Thaddeus will be down in a minute.  He—ah—he forgot about the—the meeting here to-night, and he—he put on his dress-coat.

Yardsley.  Bad thing to lift a piano in.  Better be without any coat.  But I say we begin—eh?  If you don’t mind, Mrs. Perkins.  We’ve got a great deal to do, and unfortunately hours are limited in length as well as in number.  Ah! that fireplace must be covered up.  Wouldn’t do to have a fireplace in a conservatory.  Wilt all the flowers in ten minutes.

Mrs. Perkins (meekly).  You needn’t have the fire lit, need you?

Barlow.  No—but—a fireplace without fire in it seems sort of—of bald, don’t you think?

Yardsley.  Bald?  Splendid word applied to a fireplace.  So few fireplaces have hair.

Mrs. Bradley.  Oh, it could be covered up without any trouble, Bessie.  Can’t we have those dining-room portières to hang in front of it?

Yardsley.  Just the thing.  Dining-room portières always look well, whether they’re in a conservatory or a street scene.  (Enter Perkins.)  Hello, Thaddeus!  How d’ y’?  Got your overalls on?

Perkins (trying to appear serene).  Yes.  I’m ready for anything.  Anything I can do?

Bradley.  Yes—look pleasant.  You look as if you were going to have your picture taken, or a tooth pulled.  Haven’t you a smile you don’t need that you can give us?  This isn’t a funeral.

Perkins (assuming a grin).  How’ll that do?

Barlow.  First-rate.  We’ll have to make you act next.  That’s the most villanous grin I ever saw.

Yardsley.  I’ll write a tragedy to go with it.  But I say, Thad, we want those dining-room portières of yours.  Get ’em down for us, will you?

Perkins.  Dining-room portières!  What for?

Mrs. Perkins.  They all think the fireplace would better be hid, Thaddeus, dear.  It wouldn’t look well in a conservatory.